


Three Ages Lost

by The_trash_cannot



Series: The Masks of Mairon [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angband, M/M, Mairon is happy for once, Pre-Death of Finwe, Reunions, angbang, sometimes all you need is your murderous boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 22:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18926602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_trash_cannot/pseuds/The_trash_cannot
Summary: After three ages of lonesomeness, Mairon gets a welcome interruption in Angband.





	Three Ages Lost

His footsteps echoed around the cold marble hall.

Too long had this hall been empty. Too long had Mairon been here alone. Too long had he been without his love.

The inferno of hair that usually adorned his head was reduced to embers, meekly glowing as he stripped off his armor when he reached his chambers. He shuddered into the seat in his study.

Mairon was not a vain creature, or so he liked to think. But he still kept a mirror and chair in which to admire himself. Reaching up his hands, he combed the embers into long strands of gleaming copper, allowing it to fall loose over his back.

He pulled off his gold-hemmed tunic and roughly tossed it to the floor. Again he caught his own eyes in the mirror. Suddenly, the very look of it revolted him. Seeing his body reminded him of how alone he was.

When he looked away, he realized his hands were shaking. Trying to still them, he pressed them to his face, shielding his eyes from the mirror. He tried to steady his breathing.

A hand caressed his hair, so sudden and unexpected and _familiar_ that it made his chest ache.

“My little smith,” A voice, smooth and dark as obsidian and deep as gold veins. “This is certainly a fine welcome.”

Before he had even realized it, Mairon was standing, facing the one he had longed for through three long ages.

“Master?”

“Mairon.” Melkor’s hand drifted from Mairon’s hair, to his cheek, to cupping his chin as another arm pulled his smith close and brought their lips together.

It was not until they pulled apart after several long moments that Mairon realized that, for the first time in nearly three ages, he was crying.

“How…?” He was too caught up in the sheer joy of his master’s return to question why he was here. Melkor answered him regardless.

“So long was I locked within Mandos. So long I spent away from the world. I pleaded, and my brother, believing my turn of allegiance, has given me leave to walk Aman.” He buried his hands deeper into Mairon’s hair. “It was the thought of you that preserved me. I had to return to you, see you with my eyes rather than in my fantasies.”

Melkor stooped to kiss him again, leaving him breathless.

That night, as Mairon lay in the familiar arms of his master, all the pains of the last three ages seemed to be gone. All he could see was the future, a future he and Melkor could build together in this world.

**Author's Note:**

> This author thrives off reviews.


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